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My assignment editor first asked me to work on our SickKids special section back in February. Normally photographers jump to tackle a long-term project like this. To be in on the planning stages and staying with it through six weeks or so is very satisfying. However, I told my editor I had to think about it overnight.

Just a few years ago, my daughter unfortunately spent three weeks at SickKids, and months after as an outpatient. It was one of the most difficult times I, or my wife, have ever known. My daughter is fine now, the hospital a distant memory for her. But I aged 10 years in that three-week span. I wasn’t sure how I would react to spending so much time there, now.

I agreed to the assignment, of course.

The first step in the process is to sit down with members of the communications team at the SickKids Foundation. Several of our editors, myself, and a number of SickKids folks sat around a boardroom table and started hashing out ideas. The SickKids team was great at identifying and suggesting ideas for what was happening around the hospital. After some thought and discussion, a tentative story schedule was arranged.

The most difficult task went to the SickKids team of identifying subjects to go with the stories. It is easy to decide to do a story on the palliative-care team. It is difficult finding a parent with a potentially terminally ill child who will agree to let us tell their story and take their photo. (Of course, the privacy of the family and the hospital’s need to respect it is paramount.)

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It took many weeks, in some cases, to track down willing subjects. In one case, a parent agreed to be part of a story but before we could get together, the child had died and their story is not included in the section.

It is a difficult thing taking pictures of such strong emotion. One day, I was chatting with Kevin Storey as he was in the surgical waiting room with his son, Josh, 6. Josh was born without the ability to smile. Surgeons were going to perform the first of two operations to correct this.

While chatting, a few small tears started rolling down Kevin’s face. It was an awkward moment for both of us. I had a camera in my hand with a wide-angle lens and I snapped a quiet frame or two. I should, of course, as a photographer, have picked up my other camera with the telephoto lens on it to get a tight shot of his face and tears. But in that quiet moment between two dads, fiddling around with camera equipment to stick in his face just felt too invasive.

It’s very important while taking photos of someone to make a personal connection with them. If I have 10 minutes to take their picture, I will just talk to them for nine minutes and shoot for one minute; the pictures are always better.

While chatting with Angus Ronalds about the loss of both his wife and son to cancer within a year of each other, I think I shed at least as many tears as he did. I was glad to have the excuse of raising my camera to my eye to hide behind.

DJ Skinnzy is an incredible boy. He has several health problems and the first time I was to see him in the hospital, he was just too sick. I finally went to his house when he was feeling a bit better to see him with his DJ setup. With all he has been through, he has the maturity of a 30-year-old and the spark of eternal optimism is in his eye. It was one of those totally uplifting experiences.

There is a story behind each story we covered. One that had great resonance for me was a simple birthday party. Elisa Linton turned 18 on March 31. She was diagnosed with Sanfilippo B Syndrome when she was 4. The condition is progressive and most kids die before the age of 16. Turning 18 is a major milestone.

Her family had a small and simple party for her at their home. The family could not have been more happy, friendly and accommodating. The atmosphere was quite jovial. I just felt black inside, however. I didn’t show it, but seeing this typical family scene, with everyone knowing that any day could be Elisa’s last, was just killing me.

It is a rare privilege to be invited into a person’s life, particularly if those people are at their most vulnerable. The parents are stressed beyond belief; many have spent the night, or many nights, on a chair or sofa in the hospital to stay close to their child. The children are scared, sore and surrounded by strangers.

Yet, time and again, patients, parents and staff allowed me to ask them questions, chat, and finally take their picture or interview them for a video. It’s enough to restore a man’s faith in humanity.

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